


Berate

by notjustmom



Series: Words, Words, Words [235]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, John tucks him in, M/M, Sherlock has a cold, proposal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-25
Updated: 2016-07-25
Packaged: 2018-07-26 16:21:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7581319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notjustmom/pseuds/notjustmom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>berate: verb: bih-RAYT: to scold or condemn vehemently and at length</p><p>mid 16th century: from be- ‘thoroughly’ + rate (late Middle English: of unknown origin)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Berate

It just kinda happened. It took them both by surprise a bit,(as well as everyone else who happened to be present) which was why it worked so well to stop the stream of invective that was flowing so freely from one irate consulting detective.

It had been a bad morning to begin with. Sherlock was fighting a cold, not sleeping, as usual, barely eating, as was his norm when he felt like death warmed over and John was just getting home from a double shift, so he was in no mood for...

 

Got a possible eight, interested? - GL

Sure it's an eight? - SH

at least a strong sevenish - GL

Be there in ten. - SH

 

Of course, it was barely a three and a half, and it took Sherlock less than five minutes to mercilessly berate the forensics guy, not Anderson, but almost as 'worthless and who dresses you, your mummy? (sniff, snork, aaahhhhchooooo!) Did you get your degree from a cereal box?' The photographer, barely on her second week was 'inept and should go back to whatever rock she had crawled out from.' And Grant? 'Reallllly? A 'strong sevenish'? I'm (sniffffff ahhhhhhhhhchoooooo!) dying, and you drag me out in the pouring rain for a case that my dead nana and her poodle could have solved? Next ti-'

Later, John would tell Greg that he kissed his flatmate and best friend to insure that there would be a next time. Then without a word, he dragged his stunned and silent, waterlogged partner into the first cab that slowed down, then slid in next to him. "221B Baker Street, please, step on it. Extra five quid in it for you if you get us home in less than five minutes."

"You have questions."

"Uhm. Not really - don't even know how to (snifffffff) formulate a question at this moment, other than, did you do that just to shut me up, or did you plan on (aaaaaaahchhhhhhhhhooo!) seducing me further upon our arrival home?"

"That's entirely up to you, I think you need tea and toast and you need to sleep for two days, but I'd be willing to join you....if you want my company."

"You mean you have feelings? Actual cuddly, snuggly feelings for me, even though you know I'm probably the most unpleasant and obnoxious (snorrrrrrrt, sniff) arsehole that you have ever and will ever meet?" Sherlock looked doubtfully at the damp, but grinning man who sat next to him.

"Yes, I have actual cuddly, snuggly feelings for you, in spite of your insensitivity to others, and general lack of awareness of - damn, I want to, can I kiss you one more time before we get -"

Sherlock turned towards John and gently touched his cheek, then kissed him sweetly until they pulled up in front of their flat. The cabbie laid on his horn to alert them to his presence and they pulled apart regretfully. Sherlock threw a wad of notes at him and unceremoniously yanked John out of the cab, pulled him up the steps and into his bedroom. They paused for a moment, then John slowly undressed the shivering, sneezing man in front of him, left the room briefly only to retrieve a towel, and Sherlock's warmest robe, then towel dried his friend's dripping hair to his satisfaction, wrapped him in the robe and put him to bed.

"Tea, toast, then - "

"You?"

"Me. Yes, if you want -"

Sherlock nodded in such a sweetly shy manner, that it took all of John's remaining ounce and a half of willpower not to strip right then and there and jump under the covers with him.

"I'll be right back, promise." John sighed as soon as he was in the kitchen, out of earshot and swore he'd never witnessed slower heating water in his life, and the toaster seemed to take forever. In a matter of minutes, though, John had a tray ready along with a couple of paracetamol tablets and orange juice(how that got into their fridge he never knew.)

"Sher- damn." He walked into the room to find Sherlock fast asleep. He sighed and put the tray down, drank the tea, ate the toast, then stripped and quietly got into bed next to the very warmish detective, who immediately threw an arm over John's hip and snuggled tightly against him.

"Night, Sherlock."

"Hmmmm...luv you."

"Yeah, me too."

They stayed in bed for the next three days, ignoring texts and the occasional knock at the door, moving only to use the loo, or to make tea. 

 

Everyone still alive? - GL

Barely - JW

Next week? - GL

I think we should be recovered by then - JW

 

"George?"

"Greg."

"Right. Tell him we were dying?"

"Told him to give us a few more days."

"Fair enough, though I might need longer to complete my current investigation."

"Oh, really?"

Sherlock nodded and dove back under the covers.

"Ohhhhmmmm yeah...how about the rest of your life?"

Sherlock's face peeked out from the blankets and he blinked rapidly for a moment.

"Uhm...you mean..."

"Yes..."

"You want -"

"Uh-huh."

"God, yes."


End file.
